


The Fall Guy

by atetheredmind



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Organized Crime, Prison, Second Chances
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-18 06:08:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28613364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atetheredmind/pseuds/atetheredmind
Summary: We all make choices. Four years ago, Katniss and Peeta both made a choice that irrevocably changed the course of their lives. Now, Peeta’s back, and they have to face those choices, and each other.
Relationships: Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark
Comments: 9
Kudos: 160
Collections: Prompts in Panem - Farewell Tour 2015





	The Fall Guy

**Author's Note:**

> Another old Prompts in Panem fic.

“Hey, Katniss, I just sat you at table five,” Rue chirps in passing as she flits through the kitchen, looking harried. But she manages a second to twirl around and flash her a grin. “He’s cute, too.”

Katniss rolls her eyes good-naturedly, shoving off the soda fountain. “Got it,” she says, hiding her Styrofoam cup of pink lemonade between the fountain and the wall. As she rounds the corner back into the dining area, she untucks her writing pad from her apron and strides toward her section, pulling her pen from her messy bun.

Her eyes slide over to table five, to the lone occupant of the booth, glimpsing all-too-familiar blond curls and pale skin.

When she gets a good look, she jerks to a stop, like she’s just slammed into an invisible brick wall.

_Oh, no. Not him_ , she thinks in despair, her eyes wide. She sways, like a gentle breeze could knock her onto her ass right then.

It’s the sound of her pad slapping open on the tiled floor, having slipped from her limp fingers, that brings her back to herself.

Before the patron can look up and spot her, Katniss snatches her pad off the floor and wheels around, actually running back into the kitchen. She finds a corner in the back, away from the cooks, beside one of the large freezers and tucks herself against the wall, dropping her face into her hands.

Peeta Mellark is the last person she ever expected to see around here again. Not after he went to prison four years ago for motor vehicle theft.

Not after he took the fall for her.

She still doesn’t understand it, why he did it. At 18 years old, she and Peeta had hardly known each other. They hadn’t moved in the same social circles. He was popular. She was a loner. She was poor with a dead father and a drug-addled mother, and he, a well-off do-gooder with excellent grades and a promising future.

She had nothing–nothing but the gnawing hopelessness and growing desperation that made her do increasingly stupid, reckless things.

Like try to steal a car and turn it over to Gale Hawthorne’s chop shop for a cut of the money.

_A bead of sweat rolls down the back of her neck as she maneuvers the long metal rod through the opening she’d made at the top of the driver’s side window, just like Gale taught her. She has to wiggle it, exerting more pressure to force it through; it’s taking her a lot longer than it takes Gale, who only needs 20 seconds, tops, to unlock a car door. Her heart is racing now, her eyes darting up to survey the dimly lit parking lot around her. It’s a small lot tucked into an alley between shops, the town bakery and a furniture store. There’s a brick wall to her back to afford her some discretion. Even still, she can’t help glancing over her shoulder periodically._

Come on, come on, _she thinks desperately, hissing through her teeth as the rod slips down more easily now. Perspiration is starting to soak through her t-shirt, trapped under the dark hoodie she threw over it despite the muggy summer night air. Again her eyes dart around her, and she twists the rod as she blindly searches for the electronic unlock button on the door handle._

_She hits a couple other buttons before she finds the right one, the black Honda Civic unlocking with a satisfying clunk. She chokes back a scream of victory and hurriedly yanks the rod back out, grabbing the wooden wedge from the window as well._

_She freezes when she hears the soft, distant jingle of keys and a door closing. Her head jerks up to find the sound, her body tensing to either drop or run if she has to. But she’s rooted to her spot next to the car when she catches sight of Peeta Mellark on the steps of his family’s bakery, locking the door._

_She didn’t realize anyone was inside, the bakery storefront looking dark and empty from the street. It’s almost midnight. What is he still doing here?_

_Hoisting his backpack onto his shoulder, Peeta turns around to bound down the steps but pulls up short when his eyes land on her across the way. He squints._

_“Katniss?”_

_The sound of her name jolts her, and she’s further stunned. He knows her name. How does he know her name? They’re classmates, but they’ve never spoken. They’ve barely even made eye contact in the school hallways. Now that they’ve graduated, she never even expected to see him again._

_“What are you doing…” He trails off, his question dying on his lips as he takes stock of the tools in her hand. The Honda Civic right in front of her, a car he has to realize isn’t hers. She’s too poor to own a car. His face turns ashen, confusion clouding his features. “Katniss…”_

_She tries to work her mouth, tries to think of something to say._ Run! _her mind screams at her, but her limbs won’t cooperate._

_She needs this car. She needs the money Gale promised her._

_She might have run. She should have. But something in his face angers her. The disappointment morphing his beautiful features, like he knows anything about her, like he has any expectations, any right to pass judgment on her, it enrages her. It makes her defiant._

_She doesn’t run. The wedge clatters to the ground, and she yanks the car door open to jump inside. She’s ripping off the cover on the steering wheel column with the rod when the passenger side door jerks open, and Peeta slides in beside her._

_She gapes at him but finally finds her voice. “Get out!” she hisses. The first words she’s ever spoken to him._

_He shakes his head, his blue eyes earnest and dark in the amber street lights. “Don’t do this, Katniss–you don’t have to do this–”_

_Her hands shake as she yanks on a bundle of wires, but she moves quickly and with precision._ This _is the part she knows how to do, could probably do it in her sleep.“You don’t know anything,” she snaps, pulling a pocket knife out of her hoodie pocket to tear open the covering around the wires._

_“Look,” he begins tremulously. “If you need–money or something, I can help you.”_

_Her focus blurs as she clips the separate wires together. She can barely think straight, running purely on impulse and rote memory. Some functioning part of her brain is trying to tell her how stupid this is, now that Peeta’s seen her, knows what she’s doing, can easily turn her into the police. But her flight-or-flight defenses push her onward instead of sending her fleeing into the night._

_“I don’t–I don’t want your_ charity _,” she gasps, the engine suddenly roaring to life, and she glares at him, trying to muster a intimidating ferocity she doesn’t feel. “Get out of the car, Peeta!”_

_His mouth clamps shut as he stares at her. Finally, he shakes his head, resolute. “No. I can’t do that.”_

_Her head swivels around frantically, searching for other witnesses. Is that a siren she hears? Her ears strain, but she’s not sure. Panic is flooding in fast now._

_“Fine,” she grits out, not even bothering with a seat belt as she yanks the car into drive and peels out of the small lot between buildings. She hits the curb on the opposite side of the street before she rights the car, screeching down the road. Peeta braces himself against the door frame and the dashboard, casting her frantic, sidelong glances._

_“Christ, Katniss, slow down–”_

_A scream nearly bubbles out of her throat. “I’m stealing a car, Peeta!” she snarls. “Speeding is the least of my crimes right now!”_

_“Well, the car’s not going to be much use to you if you crash it!” he yells, his face red and tight. He winces, his whole body tensing, when she takes a turn too sharp, the car lurching wildly before she can straighten it again._

_She wants to cry, she wants to push him out the door, scream at him for being so stupid as to throw his lot in with hers. She wants to–_

_She hits a pothole, hard, and jerks too roughly on the steering wheel when she tries to overcorrect. The scream claws its way out of her throat as they careen onto the sidewalk, but the force of the car hitting a street light jams the sound back down into her chest. Peeta’s shout sounds far away, and the sound chokes off too when the airbags explode, slamming them both back into their seats._

_Dazed, it takes a minute for Katniss to shake off the hit. Her whole face throbs. She can taste blood in her mouth. Peeta groans and pushes back from his airbag, and her head snaps toward him, her vision slipping dangerously._

_Blood trickles from a cut on his lip, and he struggles to breathe, to focus. His tongue snakes out to taste the wound, and he winces._

_“Are you okay?” he finally gasps out. She nods numbly, touching a shaky hand to her face. Her cheek and nose feel tender, and she smells something acrid, can feel the cloud of powder misting down around them._

_“I…” Her throat opens and closes with the effort to find words._

_The wail of sirens in the distance startles her. For a moment she wonders if it’s just a ringing in her ears, but this time, she knows she’s actually hearing it. Her whole body releases its tension, and she sags over the deflating airbag, defeated._

_“Oh, no. Oh god. Oh no,” she pants, sobs starting to rack her chest. She starts thinking about all her priors she’s racked up as a juvenile–underage drinking, shoplifting, trespassing, offenses she’s managed to escape with just community service. There’s no way they won’t throw her in jail this time, now that she’s 18. Who’s going to take care of Prim now?_

_She’s fucked. She is so royally fucked. “Oh fuck,” she wails softly, burying her face in her hands despite the throbbing_

_“Katniss…” Peeta twists painfully in his seat toward her, his expression hardening with determination. “Go. Get out of here before they get here. I’ll handle it.”_

_She looks at him sharply with wet eyes. “What?”_

_“You weren’t here,” he continues adamantly, reaching over her to push her door open with some effort and a grunt. “Go.” When she doesn’t budge, he shoves her shoulder roughly. “Go! Get out of here! Run!”_

_Something in his voice stirs her, and she stumbles out from behind the steering wheel, onto the road. She sees Peeta struggle over the center console into the driver’s seat, then she spins around on her heel away from the car._

_She hears the sirens get closer, and she runs._

_She keeps running._

Peeta lost everything that night. If he thought the police would go easier on him since he had no previous record, he’d gambled wrong.

The district attorney was up for re-election that year, was cracking down hard on crime to garner his constituents’ votes. And there had been a rash of car thefts and carjackings that summer, and with the rumblings of an illegal chop shop ring around town, DA Coriolanus Snow decided to use Peeta Mellark–baker’s son, All-American varsity wrestling team captain–as an example: Nobody was above the law.

So Peeta took a plea deal for a lesser sentence, lest the DA try to throw the book at him in court. But Katniss knew a boy like Peeta could have persuaded a jury; he _was_ innocent. She still doesn’t understand why he didn’t fight the charges, why he wouldn’t just give up her name to save his own ass.

That guilt’s haunted Katniss ever since. Peeta was on track to be a wrestling star at Panem State University, had a full ride. But he gave it up–no, she stole that from him. That night was a wakeup call for her. She distanced herself from Gale, from his illegal activities, started working two waitressing jobs, enrolled in community college classes before managing to transfer to Panem State a year ago. She’s on track to graduate next spring with a 4.0.

And she’s never thanked Peeta. Never apologized to him. Never had the guts to tell the police they had the wrong guy, never had the guts to even just visit him in prison or write. To ask him why.

She is a coward. Peeta Mellark must hate her. He must have tracked her down to tell her what a piece of shit she is.

“What the hell are you doing, brainless?”

Katniss lifts her head from her hands, blinking until Johanna comes into focus in front of her. Her hip is cocked, arms akimbo, as she scowls down at Katniss.

“I was–I felt lightheaded,” she murmurs, rubbing her forehead. “I just…need a moment.”

Johanna makes a disbelieving noise but drops it. “Well, pull yourself together. You’ve got a customer.” Her eyes twinkle suddenly. “You’ll never believe who it is, either.”

Her throat is dry, and she tries to swallow futilely. “Who?” she croaks even though she already knows, her tongue thick.

“Peeta fucking Mellark. You remember him?”

Katniss hesitantly nods her head, though she can’t muster up the surprise Johanna probably expects at the news.

“Guess he got paroled early,” Johanna muses with a shrug. “I heard he was supposed to be in prison for another two years. He looks good. Really good. Shit. Prison’s done him good.”

That makes Katniss flinch, and she glowers at the other server. “That’s kind of tasteless, don’t you think?” she snaps. Johanna just quirks an eyebrow at her.

“What crawled up your ass today?”

Katniss shakes her head and sighs, the momentary spark flickering out. “I just…I feel sick. I think I’ve got a bug maybe.” At that Johanna backs away from her. “Would you mind picking up that table for me?” She tries to hedge the desperation from her voice, hopes she succeeds. “Please?”

Johanna scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Fine. You’re lucky he’s cute. Because I doubt I’m getting a good tip from a recently released _convict_.”

Convict. The word makes Katniss’ stomach churn, and for a moment she thinks she might actually throw up.

When the other woman leaves, Katniss pushes off the wall and drags herself into the manager’s office where Haymitch is.

“Haymitch?” she calls from the doorway. He only grunts in answer. “Is it okay if I go home early? I’m really not feeling well. I don’t think I can make it to the end of my shift.”

He swivels in his chair to level a look at her. Finally he grunts again. “Go. You look like shit.” She turns around, but he calls after her. “You owe me a shift, sweetheart.”

“I’ll work a double tomorrow,” she promises and then runs the hell out of there.

She always seems to be running away from Peeta Mellark.

* * *

The beer is bitter when it touches her tongue, but Katniss barely tastes it, mindlessly swallowing the swill she poured from the keg. She lingers around the fire pit and stares at the dancing orange flames, hardly cognizant of the stories Marvel, Cato and Clove are trading beside her.

They’re at Finnick’s house. The bartender regularly throws these bonfire parties in the open field that constitutes his backyard. The parties are mainly for the crew at work, but other people tend to show up, too, which is the only reason she can figure why Cato and Marvel are here. They’re former high school classmates of hers. They don’t work with her, Finnick and the rest, and as far as she knows, they just graduated college. She doesn’t know why they bothered coming back to this deadend of a town.

Cato gives a low whistle then, the conversation dying. “Well, fuck. Look what the pussy cat dragged in,” he says, the shadows dancing across his face from the fire making his sneer look particularly menacing.

Katniss follows his gaze and nearly chokes on her own saliva, her throat closing tight.

Johanna and Peeta are walking toward them, red solo cups in hand. Johanna touches his arm as she says something to him, to which he just nods before they stop in front of the fire.

“Hey,” she greets nonchalantly, tipping her head toward Peeta. “This is Peeta.”

Cato and Marvel snort, sizing him up. “We know who he is. We went to school with him,” Cato says, his lip curling. Katniss remembers now that he and Peeta were both on the wrestling team. “We’re old friends, ain’t that right?”

Peeta barely looks at Cato, his expression not changing in the slightest. “That’s not quite the way I remember it,” he says, his disinterest apparent.

His voice is deeper than Katniss remembers. Of course, nothing about him is quite like she remembers. She didn’t get a long look at him the other day at the restaurant, but now she can’t stop staring at him. He’s big. So much bigger. Wide chest, broad shoulders, powerful forearms and thighs. Short blond curls. A hard jaw, a hard mouth that’s still somehow soft with its pink curves. His blue eyes are hard now too. The kindness, the tenderness she remembers from high school is gone.

Dragging air into her lungs is suddenly an impossible feat.

Cato’s eyes narrow at Peeta, and he snorts. “Are criminals even allowed to drink?”

Johanna rolls her eyes at that. “He stole a car, Cato. He didn’t rob a liquor store at gunpoint or something.”

Katniss tenses at the reminder, and for the first time, Peeta’s eyes flicker in her direction. Pinning her to her spot. Her knees feel like they might buckle underneath the weight of his stare.

But just like that, he looks away. His expression once again revealing nothing, and she weakly takes a gulp of her beer. Peeta does the same, back to staring at Cato and the others. Cato ducks his hard gaze after a moment with a scoff, turning back to Marvel and Clove.

“Hey, who’s the new guy?”

Finnick emerges from the side of the house, walking toward Johanna and Peeta with his girlfriend, Annie, tucked under his arm.

“This is Peeta. Peeta, Finnick, Annie,” Johanna does the introductions, slapping Finnick’s free hand in greeting. Peeta nods at them, holding his drink close to his chest. “Peeta went to high school with the rest of us.”

“Cool. What have you been up to since?” Finnick asks conversationally, oblivious to the tension that settles over the group at his question. Katniss’ grip tightens on her cup, the plastic crinkling.

Peeta doesn’t flinch, however. He just shrugs a shoulder. “I’ve been making license plates for 18 cents an hour,” he says flatly–if Katniss knew him better, she’d even say dryly. Johanna snorts in amusement, but Finnick looks confused.

“What?” Annie elbows him in his side with a pointed look, and understanding dawns on him. “Oh. Well–”

Cato decides to interject, “That means you might want to refrain from dropping anything in his vicinity,” he cracks, laughing obnoxiously at his own joke. There are numerous sharp inhales of breath around the fire, and even Marvel only chortles weakly. Nausea settles thickly in Katniss’ stomach. For a second, nobody says anything.

No one’s more surprised than Katniss when she speaks first.

“Oh, fuck off, Cato,” she hisses vehemently. “You’re a piece of shit, you know that?”

He looks stunned, but anger flashes across his face next. “What the fuck, Everdeen? Did I insult your boyfriend or something?”

She stiffens at his words but just glares at him, her body trembling. She can feel Peeta’s gaze on her, and it takes everything in her not to look back at him.

Thankfully, Johanna speaks next. “Really, Cato? A prison rape joke? Hilarious.” She rolls her eyes, a sneer darkening her expression.

Peeta smiles. Just barely, back to looking at Cato directly. “If this is your way of saying you want to see my dick, Cato, all you have to do is ask.”

This time, Katniss’ eyes snap back to him. The wry humor lacing his voice is a shock.

Cato snarls at him. “Fuck you, Mellark.”

“Again, but more politely this time,” Peeta suggests, his small, taunting smile in stark contrast to his stony gaze. He doesn’t back down when Cato makes a threatening move in his direction, somehow looming even larger with just a tilt of his chin, but Finnick steps between them, holding his hand up toward Cato.

“Okay, enough,” he warns, glaring Cato down. “I’m too old for this high school no-homo bullshit. Go get another beer and cool off.”

Glowering, Cato stalks off in the direction of the house. Marvel calls after him for a beer too, but Cato just flips him off.

Finnick sighs and loops his arm around Annie again, plastering a smile in place. “So, who’s up for a drinking game?”

The others agree half-heartedly, but Katniss just feels sick. She pours out the last bit of beer in her cup. “I’m gonna head out. I’m tired,” she says weakly, not quite meeting anybody’s gaze. Finnick and Johanna prod her to stay, but she’s already walking away with promises to see them tomorrow at work.

Even with her back to them, she can sense Peeta’s eyes on her until she disappears around the front of the house.

* * *

She makes it to work the next day, settling in for the double she promised Haymitch. Her customers annoy her more than usual, and she’s sure they’re taking it out of her tips. She’s relieved when Johanna finally strolls in around 3 to clock in for her shift.

“Hey,” Katniss says when she walks into the kitchen, asking the cook for a new order of fries for table 2.

Johanna juts her chin out in greeting as she ties her apron around her waist. “You look dead on your feet, brainless.”

Katniss just shrugs. She didn’t sleep well last night. Kept thinking about Peeta, about that night four years ago. Agonized over what his life must have been like in prison, while she was out, reveling in her freedom. When she finally did fall asleep, she was tormented by nightmares about Peeta suffering daily assaults and torture.

The thought is imprinted on her brain now. And while Peeta looks physically fine, and he looks like he was, and is, fully capable of defending himself, she can’t help but imagine what other horrors he endured behind bars.

“How was the rest of the party?” she asks quietly, picking at her cuticles.

Johanna snorts. “You missed a hell of a fight.”

Katniss glances at her sharply. “What?”

“We sat around and played Never Have I Ever for a while then went inside to play beer pong. By that point, Cato was absolutely shitfaced. He decided to pick another fight with Peeta,” she explains, and a grin curls up the corners of her mouth. “He lost.”

“Did he—did he get hurt?” Katniss asks. She means Peeta, but Johanna misinterprets her question.

“Oh, I’m sure he’s feeling it today. Peeta socked him in the gut then bodyslammed him into a table.” Johanna’s laughing. “I bet Cato’s ego is wounded more than anything, though. His punch barely even grazed Peeta’s face. He was too drunk.”

Katniss releases a sigh of relief, though the news doesn’t exactly ease her concerns. Peeta was a wrestler in high school, but she never knew him to be a fighter. In fact, he was quite the peacekeeper. She remembers him breaking up a fight in the cafeteria one time. She supposes he had to become a fighter, though.

More guilt.

The cook hands her the plate of fries she requested, and she gladly takes it out front to the table. But something else is bothering her, niggling at the back of her mind. So when there’s a lull before the dinner crowd rush, she finds Johanna in the bar area where she’s chatting idly with Finnick.

Finnick turns away to talk to a patron, and Katniss takes a deep breath. “So are you and Peeta like…dating?” she asks, hoping she sounds nonchalant. Her fingers drum anxiously on the bar top.

Johanna looks over at her, her brow furrowing. “ _Dating_? I just met him yesterday. I didn’t even know him in high school, not personally,” she replies.

Katniss shrugs, her cheeks feeling warm. “I was just—wondering. Since you brought him to the party last night.”

Johanna shrugs too. “He just got out of prison. I thought he could use a friend. Man, do you think I’m so desperate for dick that I’m thirsting after felons now?” she jokes, but it just rankles Katniss, the implication that Peeta’s not _good_ enough for her. At Katniss’ reflexive scowl, Johanna eyeballs Katniss, her eyelids slitting. “What? Why are you so curious about Peeta all of a sudden? You got a thing for him?”

This time she’s sure her face flares red. “No! Not like that—”

But Johanna’s already grinning. “What did Cato call him yesterday? Your boyfriend?”

“I barely know him either!” Katniss says defensively.

“Hmm. Still, you came to his defense fairly quickly last night. And you were ready to throw down with Cato. Very unlike you,” Johanna muses as she taps a finger to her chin, clearly enjoying tormenting her.

Katniss sighs, aggravated and embarrassed. She doesn’t have a thing for him. She’s just…she’s concerned about his wellbeing. After everything, how can she not be? The events of that night have haunted her for the last four years. She’s a shitty person, and he probably hates her, but she owes him. She should have said, done something sooner. She shouldn’t have let him push her out of that car that night. The guilt of her actions is suffocating her.

She’s never told anyone before.

Gnawing on her lip, she studies Johanna. Wondering if she can tell her, if she can finally unburden herself. She needs to, she has to tell someone.

“It’s just…Peeta and I…we have a…complicated history,” she says, her voice barely audible. Johanna lifts an eyebrow.

“What, did you two fuck in high school?”

Katniss shakes her head adamantly. “No. Nothing like that. He…you know how he went to prison for stealing that car?”

“Duh.” Johanna rolls her eyes.

“He…didn’t steal that car, Jo.” Her heart is hammering against her ribs, so hard she’s sure Johanna can hear it. “I did.”

Johanna blinks uncomprehendingly. “What do you mean…”

Katniss licks her dry lips, her eyes darting around to make sure no one can hear their conversation. “I stole the car. Peeta caught me while I was breaking into it and he…he tried to stop me, he jumped in the car with me. But then I crashed the car and…he told me to run. So I did. And he told the cops it was him.”

Her friend’s brown eyes are wide, disbelieving. “Holy shit, are you serious? Why would he do that?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know,” Katniss says miserably, pulling at her braid.

Johanna jerks her head back. “Wait, you mean you’ve never _asked_?”

Katniss’ eyes drop guiltily. “No, I…I panicked. I ran, and I didn’t know what to do. And I thought—I was sure Peeta would turn me in. But then he didn’t, so I just figured no way would a jury ever convict him, he was a good student and a good person and he didn’t have a criminal record like me, but…I didn’t know what to do, Jo.”

Johanna’s face is hard. “So you never visited him either? Never talked to him? Yesterday was the first time you’d seen him since?” Katniss nods hesitantly, and Johanna snorts, but the sound is cold. “Wow, Everdeen. You’re kind of a bitch, you know that?”

Katniss can’t even be offended at the insult. Johanna’s right. “I know. He wouldn’t give me up, and he didn’t even know me. And I let him take the fall for me, and I never…I never asked him why, never thanked him. How could I face him?”

Johanna shakes her head and pushes off the bar. “I don’t care how, but you owed him that, at least. He lost four years of his life, Katniss.”

“I know,” she says, but Johanna doesn’t let her finish.

“He missed out on college. He lost a wrestling scholarship. He could have been a star athlete. He could have gotten a degree, landed a good job and made a lot of money. He could have met the love of his life, gotten married, had kids and made a future for himself. Instead, do you know what he’s doing?”

Katniss shakes her head, not sure she wants to know.

“He’s living with his brother Rye and working for his construction business. He sleeps on a couch and gets to build other people’s dream houses for shit pay. And he’ll probably never find a good job because any time he applies for a job from now on, he’ll have to check that little box that says he was convicted of a felony.”

Swallowing a tortured groan, Katniss closes her eyes.

Johanna’s voice turns falsely bright. “But I’m sure he’ll be glad to know you’re doing well, going to college like he couldn’t and working on an environmental sciences degree so you can save the world. Yeah, I’m sure he’ll be real happy for you.”

Her voice is dripping with sarcasm now, and Katniss flinches. When she opens her eyes, Johanna is stalking off to her tables, leaving Katniss there crushed by the weight of her accusations.

* * *

Katniss approaches the construction site warily, sweat seeping through her tanktop from the scorching summer sun high overhead. She shields her eyes with her hand and squints at the house, searching for Peeta among the handful of contractors setting the roof trusses or installing the exterior siding.

She twisted information from an ornery Johanna about where Peeta worked, called a number and talked to some secretary or assistant to find out where they’d be on site today. And now here she is, hoping Peeta doesn’t take one look at her and tell her to fuck off.

She spots a blond-haired man with Peeta’s build walking toward her, but upon closer inspection she realizes it must be his brother, Rye. He lacks the full width and span of Peeta’s chest and shoulders.

“Can I help you, ma’am?” he asks, his eyes crinkling behind his goggles.

“I’m looking for Peeta,” she has to yell over the sound of saws and nail guns and the shouts of the workers behind him.

His brother looks surprised, his eyebrows shooting up before furrowing as he studies her more suspiciously. “Who’s looking for him?”

She briefly wonders if Peeta ever told his brothers about what happened…what he did, who she is. She swallows down her panic. “I’m—I’m Katniss. We used to go to high school together,” she answers, but no recognition flashes in his eyes. He just nods and yanks his glove off so he can shake her hand.

“I’m his brother, Rye. I’ll go get him for you.” He turns around and jogs around to the side of the house, where she sees Peeta hauling long planks of lumber over his shoulder. Her mouth goes dry as she takes him in. Even with his hard hat and goggles on, she knows it’s him. His white t-shirt sticks to his chest, made nearly transparent with sweat. The hard lines and ridges of his stomach and back ripple under the damp material, and his biceps and forearms bulge with the strain of carrying the wood.

He stops when Rye calls to him, and she watches their exchange. Then his eyes cut to her over Rye’s shoulder, and her entire body goes rigid. Like she wants to run. But she holds herself there, her teeth worrying her bottom lip the only movement of her otherwise paralyzed body.

Finally, Peeta nods curtly at Rye and bends over to lower the wood to the ground. He heads in her direction with slow, purposeful strides that give her ample time to agonize over their impending confrontation. He peels his gloves off and shoves them in the tool belt slung around his waist, so heavy it drags down the waistband of his jeans so they’re riding low on his hips.

By the time he reaches her, her pulse is beating erratically, like it’s trying to make its escape through her throat. Or between her thighs. Her body’s reaction to him is all over the place. She’s not sure if she’s scared or turned on.

Peeta stops a couple feet away and pulls his hard hat off to run a hand through his slick curls. “Yeah?” he grunts, pushing his goggles up onto his forehead. The coldness of his tone confirms her worst fears.

“H-hey,” she stammers, clasping her hands together in front of her so she doesn’t rub her wrists raw in her anxiousness. “Um…I’m sorry to bother you at work,” she starts to say, but her voice is lost in the commotion behind them, and he squints at her uncomprehendingly. Embarrassed, she shouts louder, “Sorry to bother you at work. Johanna told me where to find you.”

He just shrugs. “Okay,” he yells back.

“I was—I mean—can we talk?”

His eyes narrow slightly, and he looks around him as if to point out their surroundings. “Now’s not a good time.”

Flustered, she nods, “Oh, I know. I didn’t mean—I mean somewhere else. When you have time.”

His pink lips flatten into a thin line as he studies her, mulling over her words. She swipes at a line of sweat beading on her forehead.

Eventually, he nods after an excruciatingly long deliberation. “Okay. When?”

“Oh—I mean, it’s up to you, whenever—”

“You’re a waitress, right?” he interrupts her, and she nods. “I don’t have a set schedule yet. I assume you do. So you tell me.”

“Okay. Um. Tomorrow? Do you—do you want to meet somewhere, like a coffee shop or something?”

He shakes his head. “It’d be best if you come to Rye’s place. I don’t have a car,” he says flatly, and shame and regret mix heavily in her stomach.

“Oh,” she says like an idiot for the umpteenth time. “Yeah, that’s—that’s fine. Of course. I’ll come…I’ll come to his place around—is 4 okay? I get off work at 3.”

He shrugs, which she takes as a yes, and when he rattles off the address to her, she hurriedly makes a note of it in her phone so she won’t forget. Their goodbyes are awkward because he just nods and turns his back on her, effectively ending their conversation as he pulls his goggles back down, fits his hard hat to his head and saunters back toward the house. She stands there a moment and watches him hoist the lumber back onto his shoulder, but when he looks over and sees her still there, she nearly stumbles off the curb in her rush back to her car.

* * *

When Katniss arrives at Rye’s house (3:54 p.m., she would have felt like an asshole if she was even remotely late), she’s still dressed in her work uniform. She had a table that refused to leave, no matter how much she scowled at them. She wasn’t even bothered by the insignificant tip, she was so worried about getting to Rye’s on time. But now she’s sweaty and reeking of fried food, and her hair is frizzy. She’s not sure why she cares so much, but she’s cursing herself for not having the foresight to pack a change of clothes before she left for work that morning. Her black shirt and black skinny jeans leave little to be desired.

_Desired_. She almost laughs. What the fuck is she thinking?

Peeta invites her inside when he opens the door. She’s surprised, having half-expected him to force her to grovel on the porch.

“Would you like anything to drink?” he offers, his voice polite but not warm.

She follows him inside, her eyes falling on the rumpled sheet and pillow on the couch. “No, thank you. I get free drinks at the restaurant,” she says, then wonders why the hell she felt compelled to tell him that.

He gives her a strange look. “I meant a beer. You look tense. I thought you could use one.”

She can’t tell if he’s mocking her or not. But she shakes her head, even though he’s probably right; alcohol would make this conversation easier.

“I shouldn’t. I have to drive,” she says, and he nods. She’s not sure how to start this conversation. So she stalls instead. “Um. I heard you got into a fight with Cato the other night. At the party. Are you okay?” Her voice is soft, tentative.

His cheek twitches, his brow knitting together at her question. “I’m fine. I hadn’t even thought about it. ”

He looks fine. She doesn’t see a single scratch on him. More than fine. She feels tiny in front of his broad, stocky frame. “I was worried I might have antagonized him,” she admits, feeling embarrassed when she remembers the way Cato called Peeta her boyfriend. She briefly wonders what Peeta thought of that.

He shrugs nonchalantly. “Cato’s been itching for a fight since high school, anyway.” He runs his hair through his hair, first ruffling it up before smoothing it down.

Katniss’ eyes are riveted to the movement for a moment before she’s able to shake herself from the trance his simple hand gesture has woven over her. She decides to get to the point and takes a deep breath, releasing it harshly. “I just wanted to…I…I’m sorry for running out of the restaurant the other day when you came in. I just…freaked out.”

His brow furrows slightly, and he eyes her. “Okay…I didn’t know you had run out.”

She stares at him stupidly, and then her face flushes. “Oh. I thought. I thought…I don’t know, I thought you were looking for me that day…”

He shakes his head slowly and slips his hands into his front pockets, leaning against the arm of the couch. “No. I just wanted something to eat. It was my first meal out in years. I didn’t know you worked there until Johanna told me.”

Oh god, this is mortifying. She’s sure her face is bright red. “Right, well, it was just…I hadn’t seen you since…it was just—jarring, I guess. I thought…”

“You thought I’d come to confront you about that night four years ago,” he finishes for her. His voice remains flat, not revealing anything. She can’t gauge anything from his tone, whether he’s angry or amused or disgusted.

She nervously runs a hand through her hair before she remembers it’s up in a bun, her fingers catching in the elastic, and she frantically tries to smooth and tuck the loose pieces back in. She’s chewing mercilessly on her lip before she forces herself to release it. “Yeah,” her voice cracks. “You—I wouldn’t blame you, I mean, I understand why you would…You should.”

He just shrugs. “If that’s what you’re worried about, you can stop. I’m not going to yell at you.” He stands up and moves into the kitchen.

She stands in the middle of the living room, listens to the sound of him opening the fridge, grabbing a beer, popping the cap off. “You’re not?”

He comes back out. “No. I’m ready to move on with my life, Katniss. You’re absolved if that’s what you need me to do. You’re free to go,” he says, waving the beer bottle in the direction of the door before gulping a few swallows down.

Her eyes blink once, twice. This isn’t going like she thought…she’s not sure what to do. Part of her wants to take his invitation, turn on her heel and run out that door. Like she’d done all those years ago.

But a bigger part can’t quite let herself do that. Not when she’s finally face to face with him after avoiding him for so long.

“Peeta…” she whispers finally. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I ran that night, I never should have let you—I just…never should have,” she finishes lamely, trying and failing to pierce together a substantial apology.

Still, he just shakes his head. “Forget it,” he says firmly. There’s an undercurrent of discomfort in his voice, though.

“I can’t,” her voice is even softer now. “I should have done something. Said something. I should have visited you. Should’ve—should’ve said thank you, at least—”

“I don’t want you to thank me for going to prison for you,” he interrupts, and this time his voice is hard. Harsh, even. Like he’s finally getting angry, even though his expression remains stoic.

Katniss swallows thickly. “I just…I didn’t understand—I still don’t understand, I don’t know why you did it—”

He snorts, low, dry. “Why? You know why, Katniss.”

She starts to shake her head but then stops herself. She can feel her heart in her neck, pulsating under her skin. Her breaths are a little lighter now, a little quicker.

She thinks about the looks he gave her in school. The way his eyes would flit away when she’d look back. The look on his face when he saw her that night outside the bakery. Like she was breaking his heart.

Maybe she does know why.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers again, uselessly.

Peeta shakes his head. “I told you. I don’t want an apology. I just want to move on, forget about it. I’ve spent the last four years doing nothing _but_ thinking about it. I’m tired, Katniss. It’s done.”

She can’t believe him. Can’t accept that. He has to be mad at her. She would be. She’d absolutely hate him. She hates herself. He _should_ hate her. He deserves that. She deserves that. _She_ needs that, needs to earn the cross she’s carried all these years anyway, needs to know she hasn’t been dragging around the weight of this guilt for nothing.

“How can you not be mad at me, Peeta?” she says, her voice louder this time. Mystified, desperate. “I fucked you over. You lost everything because of me. And I was just selfish, never apologized, never said anything. You should be furious. Don’t you hate me? _I_ hate me. I understand if you hate me. You should yell at me, scream at me. Something—”

“Stop,” he orders, and his voice is a little less controlled this time. His eyes flash dangerously. “I’m not here to alleviate your guilt. You don’t get to demand that from me.” She falls silent, and he inhales deeply, scrubbing at his hair.

She thinks about leaving now, but he keeps talking, and despite what he claimed earlier about not yelling, his voice is louder now. “Of course I’m mad. You don’t think I’m mad? I’ve spent the last four years in _hell_. My parents won’t talk to me, this whole town thinks I’m a criminal, and I’m living on my brother’s couch. I have nothing. I’m angry. Yeah, I’m fucking _angry_ at _you_. Christ, Katniss, I look at you and I want to fucking _scream_ —”

She’s not aware of herself closing the distance between them, of her feet carrying her to him, but she reaches for him, pulls his face to hers to kiss him, to lick his mouth, his tongue, to ravenously devour him. His words die on a confused, pathetic sound in his throat, his chest expanding against hers with his sharp inhale through his nose.

But he’s kissing her back, if only for a moment, reaching for her hips before he thinks better of it and wrenches away from her. His head jerks back, his hands curling around hers tightly to pry them off his face.

“What are you doing?” he breathes out, hard, angry red splotches marring his cheeks. His eyes are wild.

His taste still lingers on her lips, her tongue. Tart, bitter. She wants to kiss him again. She doesn’t want to stop kissing him. She blinks up at him, breathing heavily herself. “I—”

“What was that for?” he demands, angrier this time. “Was that pity? Do you feel sorry for me? Like you owe me or something? You think you can pay me back this way?”

“No?” she gasps, not entirely sure of her own reasoning. Her head is swimming, and she can’t parse out what she’s doing for herself at this point and what she’s doing for his sake. Why can’t it be enough to just want him? She shakes her head more resolutely this time. “No—maybe. I mean—yes, I feel like I owe you. But I didn’t kiss you because of that. I just wanted to…I just want to kiss you.”

He stares at her, his eyes stormy and tumultuous as he searches her face. But he doesn’t stop her when she tips up on her toes to kiss him again, sliding her tongue into his mouth. His hands release hers and anchor around her waist to drag her flush against his firm body. It feels like taking refuge in a sturdy shelter. Katniss winds her arms around his shoulders, his neck. She can’t get close enough, she can’t kiss him hard enough, deep enough. Their mouths are slick and desperate as they move together, clumsy but unapologetic. She can feel his cold beer bottle dig against the cleft of her ass through her pants, and his free hand palms her bottom roughly, pulling her closer still.

When she feels the firm ridge of his erection against her pelvis, her mind goes fuzzy, and she’s unable to account for how they end up over the arm of the couch. She must have pushed him down, but she can’t muster any mortification at her shamelessness. She’s only aware of herself crawling over him, pressing him into the couch. His beer bottle is on the floor, the amber liquid glugging out onto the carpet, forgotten.

Her teeth tear angrily at his lips, and her knees dig into the cushions as she leverages herself forward, stretching out over him. His neck strains upward to maintain the kiss, but she can’t resist the newly exposed skin he offers her. Her lips and tongue flutter across his throat, his jaw, down to his collarbone, tasting the salt, the dirt and earth and sawdust that seem to have permeated his pores.

“Do you have condoms?” she pants before seeking his mouth out again, pawing at his zipper, but he goes rigid beneath her, his lips suddenly unyielding under hers.

She goes still too, her eyes fluttering open to look down into his wide, open ones. His breaths are hot and quick on her mouth, just enough of a taste to tease her, and then he drops his head to the couch, pushing her up and away from him.

Peeta shakes his head, slowly dragging himself across the couch, out from under her. His voice is gravely when he speaks. “No. I don’t have _condoms_ , Katniss. I just got out of prison.” He shakes his head, raking his hand through his disheveled curls, and she leans back on her haunches. “I haven’t even…I’ve never…”

She stares at him until her eyes pull away as realization dawns on her. Shame immediately follows, and she lets the full weight of his words push her down into that couch like a bulldozer. What else? What else has she stolen from him these past four years?

Neither of them speak for a moment until Katniss opens her mouth—and she already knows it’s going to be the wrong thing to say, but she can’t stop herself. “I have condoms at my place,” she whispers.

He digs his fingers into his eyes and sighs. “I think you should go. I want you to go. Rye’s going to be here soon and…” His voice breaks off, and he clears his throat. “I want you to go.”

Numbly, she just nods and pulls herself to her feet. She thinks she’s standing on her feet, at least. She can’t really feel them, and she sways uneasily, like she’s not completely on solid ground.

She doesn’t say anything else when she leaves.

* * *

Katniss rounds the wall from the kitchen to the dining area, balancing the tray of food on her hand and shoulder. At the table, she removes the plates and places them in front of the couple. “Everything look good?” she asks, and they nod. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

Pinning the tray under her arm against her side, she starts to head back into the kitchen, but Johanna catches her by the arm. “Hey. Mellark’s looking for you.”

Katniss’ eyebrows shoot up. “What?”

Johanna nods her head over her shoulder. “He’s at the bar. He asked for you.”

“I—I can’t talk to him,” she says, her eyes bulging. Not after what happened the last time she tried to. Johanna looks annoyed so Katniss explains before she can get yelled at. Again. “I tried, Jo. The other day. And I made an ass out of myself. You don’t understand. He was so mad at me…”

Johanna just rolls her eyes. “Well, he doesn’t look mad anymore,” is all she says before walking away, a tray of drinks expertly balanced in her hand.

“Shit,” Katniss mutters under her breath, lingering for a few seconds before she forces herself in the direction of the bar, her feet dragging. Her face is already hot in mortification, and she’s not sure she can look him in the eye again after how she propositioned him.

God, what was she thinking, that he could possibly want to sleep with her after what she did?

She spots him at the bar, his back to her as he sips a beer and talks quietly with Finnick. She stares at him. Even hunched over in his stool, he looks imposing. Strong. Overwhelming. Taking a deep breath, she shifts the tray in front of her body unconsciously, almost like a shield, and walks up to him.

“Hey,” she says at his side. He looks over at her, and she can’t quite meet his gaze. Instead, she focuses on the bridge of his nose. There’s a white mark there she didn’t notice before. An old scar.

“Hi,” he greets, nodding his head. He doesn’t say anything else right away, and she waits while he drinks his beer, annoyance creeping up the back of her neck like an uncomfortably warm flush.

She finally huffs out, hugging the tray to her stomach. “Well, I have tables to wait on, so…”

Peeta twists in his stool at that, so his whole body is facing her more. “I don’t have your number,” he says abruptly, confusing her. “I didn’t know how to get in touch with you.”

She’s still speechless. “Oh,” she finally says, and he rubs at his nose.

“I thought we could hang out sometime. Somewhere. I figured you owed me dinner, at the very least.”

She blinks. His face and voice are unmoving, but she thinks she sees humor dancing in his eyes, just a little. “Oh,” she repeats, lowering the tray. “Yeah. I guess I do.”

With a nod, Peeta pulls his phone out of his pocket. It’s an older cell phone, a flip one, and he looks up at her expectantly. She recites her number for him.

“Okay. I’ll call you. I have limited texting right now. I’m more comfortable talking on the phone, anyway, as you can imagine.” His voice is wry, and she blushes, not entirely sure if it’s from shame or something else this time.

“Right. Okay. Well, I’ll…talk to you later,” she says, and he just nods again, turning back to his drink. Confused, Katniss shuffles back into the kitchen.

* * *

Peeta calls her that night, and they have a rather stilted, formal conversation where they agree to go out the following night. Katniss talks Johanna into covering her shift, and Katniss takes him to The Hob, since it’s the only decent restaurant he hasn’t been to yet that opened in the last four years.

The drive is fairly quiet. She wonders if she should apologize for her behavior at his brother’s house—just another poor decision to add to her long list of overdue apologies—but she’s still too embarrassed to bring it up, and he doesn’t either, so she decides to steer clear.

They’re seated at a corner booth, and they spend a few minutes studying the menu quietly. When their server asks if they’re ready, Peeta squints at her slightly.

“What’s the most expensive item on the menu?” he asks, and the server’s momentarily caught off guard, stuttering as she tries to come up with the answer for the unusual question. Katniss’ eyes cut to Peeta in disbelief, and he finally looks at her. His eyebrow raise is mocking. “I’m kidding.”

The server laughs awkwardly, and, flushing, Katniss buries her face in her menu. A small smile pulls at her mouth, but she hides it. Peeta orders a cheeseburger and fries, and Katniss asks for the same thing, realizing she hadn’t really been reading the menu at all, too preoccupied with studying him as discreetly as possible.

“Tell me about your life,” he says once the waitress is gone. It’s not a question, really.

She licks at her bottom lip cautiously, fidgeting with the straw in her glass of water. “You mean…you want to know if I’ve stayed out of trouble while you were gone,” she guesses.

His eyes are dull. “While I was in prison,” he corrects her. Her nose wrinkles slightly, but she nods.

“While you were in prison,” she echoes. “I started college. I’m studying environmental sciences. It’s taking me longer, though. I—right after high school, I had to start off taking community classes. Here and there when I could while working. I’ve been saving up money. I’ve gotten a few grants and loans. I’m also helping Prim—my sister—through college. She’s starting this fall.” She’s quiet for a moment, her eyes flicking up to his. She can’t read his expression really, it’s indecipherable. “I haven’t…I mean, after you…that night, I haven’t…done anything like that since. If that helps at all.”

Peeta doesn’t respond right away until eventually, quietly, “It does.”

She releases her breath, surprised by how relieved she feels by that simple acknowledgment on his end. She doesn’t look away from him this time, staring at the scar between his eyes again. “Was it really bad for you?” she whispers somberly.

“At first,” he says bluntly. She won’t let herself look away, knowing this is her penance for her crime. “But I learned how to take care of myself. I learned how to survive.”

She nods, just once. “Did you ever…tell anyone? The truth?”

“No,” he says simply.

She stares at her water, wipes a trail through the condensation with her thumb. “Why not?”

She can feel his gaze on her, so reluctantly she meets it. He looks perturbed, irritable. “I told you I would handle it. That I would protect you. What kind of person would I be if—” He shakes his head. “I couldn’t tell anyone. My brothers knew I didn’t do it. They know I don’t know how to hotwire a car. My parents didn’t believe it either. Begged me to tell them who I was covering for. But I knew if I did, they’d tell. The police, the DA. And then you’d be behind bars and not me. So what other choice did I have?”

He shakes his head again, his mouth thinning, and the abruptness of his tone tells her he doesn’t want to discuss it anymore. She drops her hand to her lap, wrapping her arm around her stomach to quell the unsettled feeling. She inhales shakily then releases it. “Okay. I…okay.”

They don’t speak again until their food arrives, and then it’s just light, careful conversation where they tiptoe around each other.

After they’re done eating, she offers him dessert, but he declines. She realizes the date is over, and she’s actually sad, despite how awkward and uncomfortable the night has been. But Peeta’s next question catches her off guard.

“Have you dated since high school?”

“A little bit,” she’s so surprised she answers immediately.

“Who?” His voice is a little rougher. She stares at him, trying to decipher the look in his eyes.

“Well. There was Gale. And after that, this guy in one of my classes in college, Darius.”

His jaw tightens some, and he glances out the window. She’s not sure what he’s thinking, or what she should say, but he eventually turns back to her and nods. “Okay. Should we go?”

Reluctantly, she agrees. They get the check and after they settle up, they leave The Hob. At her parked car, she’s surprised when Peeta follows her to the driver’s side instead of getting into his side. He reaches for the door, and she thinks he’s going to open it for her, but instead he traps her between his arms, bracing his hands against the car. Her eyes widen in shock, and he stares down at her.

“We’re even now. Okay?”

She’s too enamored by the intensity of his gaze to grasp his implication.

“Okay?” he repeats, more firmly. “I went to prison for you. And now you’ve bought me dinner. So we’re even. You don’t owe me anything more. Got it?”

She wants to laugh in his face but manages to refrain. How can he be serious? They’re not even, not by a long shot.

He continues, “So if you’re doing this to make amends, you’re done. You can walk away if you want.”

She searches his face, beginning to understand. “I don’t want to walk away,” she finally murmurs, her heart pumping in her throat in anticipation. That seems to be the answer he’s looking for.

Her mouth is already opening for his, like she senses his intention before she registers him dropping his mouth to hers.

His body flattens her against the car door, his tongue working into her mouth to stroke hers. She paws at his back and whimpers, twisting her head at an angle so she can meet his tongue more fervently. His chest is hard against her breasts, his erection stiffening, and she instinctively rubs against him. Pride ripples down her spine when he grunts into her mouth, a pitiful sound puffing against her top lip.

He wrenches himself away, and she starts to follow before she reels herself in, peeling her heavy eyes open to look at him.

“Let’s go to your place,” he finally forces out. His eyes are black, endless. She nods.

She barely remembers the drive to her apartment. Neither of them speaks, but he keeps his hand on her leg. Just the faint indentations of his fingertips high up on her inner thigh is enough to start a dull, persistent ache at her core. She can feel herself getting wet. She can’t even breathe right, and her mind feels fuzzy. Thank god for muscle memory, she thinks as she somehow pulls into a spot in front of her building sometime later.

She leads him up to the second floor. He’s still quiet as she fumbles with her lock, but his presence is warm at her back. Distracting. Her normally steady hand trembles, and she misses the lock a couple times before she manages to wiggle the key into it. The lock flips to the right with a hard snap, and she twists the doorknob. Peeta flattens his hand on the door and shoves it open before she can, his chest pressing her into her apartment as he crowds her inside.

The keys clatter to the floor, and she twists in his arms, seeking his mouth with her own. His tongue snakes into her mouth, brushing against hers. Her whimper is nearly inaudible, but she’s glad he has his arms anchored tightly around her because her body immediately goes weak.

She’s thought about nothing but his taste since their last—first—kiss. His mouth is warm, sweet, him. The way he completely claims her, tipping her head back into his palm like a cradle, the way he tugs at her lips with his teeth before licking his way back into her mouth. She’s never kissed, or been kissed, like this.

Peeta’s other hand curves over the slant of her hip, the swell of her ass before slipping under the hem of her shirt, pushing it up to flatten on the dip of her back. His flesh is hot against her skin, and she shudders as his fingers slide back and forth. She can feel the ghost of them between her thighs.

Katniss suckles at his tongue, her arms wrapped around his neck. “Do you want—bedroom?” The thought is incomplete, mumbled into his mouth. She tightens her grip around his shoulders, shifting up against him. His erection is there again, hard and stifled by the fly of his jeans.

“Yeah,” he exhales hotly against her lips, and she moves to disentangle herself from him, but he just hoists her into his arms effortlessly. Her legs wrap around him, and she stares down at him, dumbfounded. The rush of wetness between her thighs is instantaneous. “Where is it?”

Her blinks are languid. “Just—just down the hall,” she whispers, unable to resist threading her fingers through his soft blond curls while he carries her into her bedroom. She tries not to block his view, nuzzling her cheek and nose in his hair. She inhales deeply. She’s aware she must look insane smelling his hair, but he doesn’t say anything, instead sets her down on her bed.

She reluctantly lets him go and just watches him undress, peering up with wide eyes. He drags his shirt over his head without bothering to unbutton it. She’s amazed he can even peel it off his broad shoulders. Her amazement only doubles when he’s finally shirtless. He’s hard everywhere. Wide, ridged plains of skin and muscle and light, downy hair. His nipples are small and pink. She digs her teeth into her bottom lip painfully, following the sinews and lines of his firm stomach to the sexy cut of his hips, a dark path of hair disappearing under the waistline of his jeans.

He starts to unbutton his pants but then stops, looking down at her. His cheeks are slightly flushed. “Are you going to…?” He doesn’t finish his sentence. He wants her to undress too, and while a part of her wants to strip off her clothes and mount him right now, the other part, the one rendering her immobile, just wants to sit there and admire him.

She swallows, her mouth and throat dry, and leans back on her hands. “I just…Peeta, you’re so…I want to look at you. I just want to see you. Show me,” she murmurs, her lidded eyes still heavily drooping down to take in his body.

He doesn’t move at first, then slowly, he unfastens his button and unzips the fly. He pushes his jeans over his hips and down his legs, peeling them off his feet to toss aside. His black boxer-briefs cling to his thick thighs; she’s almost disappointed that they’re black. They camouflage the outline of his dick too well.

But then he’s stretching the waistband down, past his cock, and it springs free of its cotton confines, lightly grazing his abdomen. It’s long and thick, and she doesn’t think she’s seen anyone so hard before. He must be in pain, so desperate for release. For _her_. His balls are heavy and tight against his thighs. She’s never given much thought to a man’s balls before, but his are perfect.

He’s standing in front of her naked, and she can’t even believe how wet she already is. Just from looking at him. Just from _anticipating_ him.

Wordlessly, she pulls her shirt off. Her hair is down, and it falls in her face when she yanks the shirt over her head. She’s briefly self-conscious of her small breasts as she unclasps her bra, but she sees his lips part and his eyes go soft at the sight of them, and the moment’s gone. Flattening out on her back, she begins wiggling out of her jeans, wondering why she didn’t go with a dress or a skirt for this date.

“Can you help?” she asks, and he eagerly reaches over her, hooking his fingers in her jeans to yank them off her legs. Then she digs her heels into her mattress and hikes her hips up to peel off her panties next.

Now she’s naked, too, her legs spread slightly so he can see her, red and swollen and glistening. He crawls onto the bed, and she crawls backward with him till they’re at the headboard. He stops and holds himself above her, taking her in. His hungry gaze rakes up and down her body, and she can practically feel it, as if he were stroking her with his fingertips. She trembles, and he drags his eyes up to her face. His pupils are fat, deep, and then he’s kissing her again. Ravenously, angrily almost, and she claws at his back, reaching down to grab his firm ass, to pull him down against her.

His cock is smooth and hot on her stomach, and he groans into her mouth at the contact, an involuntary thrust sliding his cock against her pelvis. She sighs and arches up, trapping him between their bodies, and Peeta slides his hand over her waist to cup her breast. He squeezes it, gently at first, then more firmly, circling the hardened bud of her nipple with his thumb. Her whimper is lost around his tongue as she squirms against him.

Emboldened by the encouragement, he dips his head to her breast and sucks the nipple into his mouth, worries it with his teeth, tongues it with fast flicks and broad swipes.

“Peeta,” she whines, her legs spreading wider to cradle his hips between hers. She’s aching now, slippery with the arousal pulsing out of her. Peeta latches onto her other breast with his mouth and drags his hand down between her thighs. She jolts when his fingers slip through her folds, and he groans loudly, pausing his ministrations on her breasts to press his forehead against her sternum.

“Oh my god. _Katniss_ ,” he rasps in amazement, rubbing her up and down. She inhales sharply with a hiss when he touches her clit, and he redoubles his efforts there, light, teasing strokes. Testing. He lifts his head to watch her face. Her face is flushed, warm—her whole body is—and even with his feathery touches on her clit, she can feel the rush of blood, pumping fast and hard through her heart, to her limbs, down between her thighs. It’s dizzying, the pleasure coursing, building.

He stops, however, seeming to waver, then he slips his fingers down, curling them slightly so the tips of his two middle fingers press inside her, just barely. She’s so wet, he slips in easily. She sees his throat bob, and he licks his lips before pushing them in farther.

His fingers are thick, and she takes a deep breath, closing her eyes. Her hips undulate of their own accord, working his fingers in more, and he slowly plunges them in, out. She can hear the soft, wet sounds of his fingers’ deliberate thrusts.

It feels good, wonderful, but she needs more. The delayed crescendo of her orgasm is still thrumming through her veins, frustratingly, buzzing in her ears.

“Do—do you want me to…I mean, I can be on top,” she stammers, trying to assert control since it’s his first time, but she doesn’t necessarily feel any more experienced than he must.

Still, her words seem to render him stupefied because he collapses on his back beside her. She sits up and swings her leg over him to straddle him, but she reaches over to the nightstand first, rifling through the nightstand for a condom. It’s an effort to rip one off because her fingers don’t seem to be cooperating with her, but she manages to tear the package open and grasp the slick condom in her fingers. Peeta groans quietly when she takes him in hand. She marvels momentarily at the feel and weight of him in her hand, stroking him a few times until she remembers he might not want to finish too soon.

Rolling the condom down his shaft, she shimmies up his torso some. “Does that feel okay?” she asks. She feels nervous, exposed under his narrowed, piercing gaze. He glances down between her legs and carefully grabs her hips.

“Yeah,” he breathes. She thinks she can see his pulse in his neck.

Katniss positions him between her thighs, which are split wide over his, then rocks forward on him so he slides inside her. Her walls fight him as they stretch to accommodate his girth. His breath gets stuck in his throat before he forces it out on a groan. She gasps tremulously, rolling her hips forward and back until she’s settled on him completely.

She feels full, overwhelmed. “ _God_ ,” she gasps, tipping her head back a moment before looking down at him. “Good?”

His nostrils flare, quiver, and he nods. “Good, fuck, _so_ good. Katniss.” She likes the way he says her name, a soft, reverent hiss through his teeth, like it’s strangled by his lips, like it’s safe in his mouth. “God, you’re so…so tight, and wet.”

She bites her lip. She feels sexy. Powerful.

She begins moving, bracing her hands on his chest to guide her movements. He groans, and she rocks faster, arching her back and angling her hips so she can grind against him. His pubic bone rubs against her clit, and the simmering heat surges through her again.

“Oh god,” she gasps, her eyes fluttering shut. She repeats the movement, harder, over and over, until she’s whimpering and moaning. Peeta’s fingers dig into her thighs, and his breaths are heavy, uncontrolled.

“You’re so hot,” he grunts, sliding one hand around to her back. His palm flattens on the curve above her ass to guide her as she rocks on top of him. “Keep moving. Jesus. Katniss.”

Her hips are bucking wildly now, and she’s chasing her orgasm, reaching for it, it’s right at her fingertips, then— “God, Peeta,” she cries before dissolving into gasping pants and moans. Pleasure washes through her, her clit pulsing, her walls quivering as they clench around his cock.

“Katniss,” he murmurs, begs even, watching her. It takes her a moment to catch her breath, to revel in her euphoria.

Then, she sits up straighter and digs her knees into the mattress for leverage, tucked against his sides, so she can ride him. She rises up on her shins, his cock sliding out of her to the tip before she surges back down on him. He groans much louder this time, and she knows she’s found the right rhythm for him, the right angle.

“You can fuck me too. Thrust up into me.” Her words end on a moan because his hands are already moving to grip her ass so he can piston up into her. With his hard, shallow upward thrusts, she’s bouncing on top of him now. Their flesh creates a soft slapping sound with their frenetic movements, her pussy slicker from her orgasm as he slides through her folds, against her walls.

“Peeta.” She can’t stop saying his name. It sits heavy in her mouth, on her tongue. It warms her throat. “God, you’re so big,” she finds herself saying, delirious, and it’s true, but she has a distant self-awareness that she must sound like a porn star, especially with her obnoxiously loud moans. She can’t bring herself to care.

He’s almost as loud as her, his groans and grunts deep and guttural. “Fuck—Katniss—I, fuck, I’m coming” he gasps out, his neck stretching out as he digs his head into the pillow. And he does, thrusting up into her hard a couple times, bouncing her on top of him, before he grabs her hips and pulls her down against him with a pained, deep-bellied moan. His neck and cheeks are flushed, pink, and he squeezes his eyes shut.

His cock pulses inside her, filling the condom, and she can see the quivering in his abdominal muscles. She eases her thrusts, rocking gently before gradually slowing to a stop as she watches him through his orgasm, catching her breath.

He’s beautiful.

And she was his first.

She feels a warped sense of pride, like he’s bestowed her with an incredibly rare honor.

He’s still panting, his eyes shut, and she leans down to kiss him, surprising him. His response is sluggish, and his eyes open to look up at her, but then he kisses her back, their tongues brushing together languidly.

When they break apart, she licks at a string of saliva sticking to his lip and sits up. She holds onto the base of the condom as she climbs off of him so it doesn’t slip off, but then she’s left awkwardly holding his cock. Should she take it off for him? Her eyes dart to him, and he understands, carefully peeling the slick condom off himself. But she holds her hand out. “I can throw it away for you,” she offers with an uncomfortable laugh

He scratches his head as she climbs off the bed with the used condom. Even though he’s obviously seen her naked, she still pulls the sheet off her mattress to haphazardly wrap around her nude body so she can walk into her attached bathroom. Disposing of the condom, she uses the bathroom and cleans herself up before turning to her bedroom.

Peeta’s stretched out on her bed, still stark naked, with one arm folded behind his head as he stares up at the ceiling. Katniss pads across the floor and crawls onto her bed, sitting down beside him. She’s not sure what’s supposed to happen now. She doesn’t want him to leave, but she doesn’t know how to ask him to stay.

“I’ve been fantasizing about doing that with you since high school,” he says after a moment, eyes still trained on the ceiling. Her face flushes—with embarrassment? Happiness? The corner of his mouth twitches wryly. “Of course, I didn’t exactly plan on being a 22-year-old virgin when it happened.”

She drops her gaze to the bed, picking at the sheet wrapped around her legs. “I’m sorry.”

He makes a sound in the back of his throat and looks at her. “You’ve got to stop saying that. I can’t handle it if you’re going to apologize every time I see you. I told you we’re even, okay?”

They’re not even; they’ll never be. There’s no way she can ever pay him back.

She stares at him, mulling his words over. “Can you really do that? Just…let it go? It really isn’t going to bother you at some point down the road, remembering what I did?”

He narrows his eyes at her pensively. “What are you asking exactly, Katniss?”

She looks away again, shrugging. “I don’t know. I just…if you and I…you know, I would like to, I don’t know.” She tucks her hair behind her ear, feeling frustrated. She’s never been good at this, good at wielding her words.

He sits up, forcing her to look at him. “You would like what? You want me? You want to be with me?”

Her face burns at her thoughts and feelings stripped bare by his tongue so easily like that, and she clears her throat. “Yeah. But it obviously won’t work if you’re holding a grudge against me—”

He makes an exasperated sound. “Katniss, I think you’re holding a grudge against yourself. Yes, I was angry. But once I work through it, it’s done. That’s just how I’ve always been, and it’s not something prison managed to beat out of me. But you’ve gotta forgive yourself. I made a choice four years ago. That’s on me. You didn’t force me to make that choice. I’ve accepted it. You made a choice too, and you’ve just gotta figure out how to accept that. Otherwise, that’s going to be the reason why whatever this is between us never gets off the ground.”

Silence follows his words as she takes them in, then eventually she nods. She meets his intense gaze then. “Do you want it to? For this thing between us to get off the ground?” she asks, her voice small.

He laughs gravelly, surprising her. “I’ve wanted you since high school. Do you still not get that?”

Her cheeks turn ruddy with embarrassment and pleasure. “Still, after everything?”

“God help me, yeah,” he sighs roughly, flopping back down on the bed. “Believe me, I tried to shake you. But you are unshakeable.”

She rolls her eyes. “I’m swooning,” she says brusquely, but she lies down beside him, facing him. He gives her a small smirk, folding his arms behind his head.

“Sorry. You don’t really learn how to woo a woman in prison. I’m a little rusty.”

“For someone who claims to be over it, you sure do like to keep bringing it up,” she mutters. She’s mostly kidding.

He rolls onto his side to face her. “You’re right. Let’s work on getting something else up instead,” he murmurs, pulling at the sheet to unravel her.

“No romance, but apparently you’re well-versed in cheesy porn one-liners,” she accuses, but he’s kissing her again anyway. She kisses him back hungrily, chasing the taunting smirk from his lips. Heat flares inside her the second his tongue lashes hers.

She arches against him, dragging her stiff nipples against his chest. Soon, they’re writhing together, their legs slipping between each other’s, his once-again hard cock rubbing against her inner thigh. He groans into her mouth.

“Jesus, that was fast,” he pants like he can’t quite believe it, and he crawls on top of her, spreading her legs open around his.

Her pride swells, her pussy clenching at his words. “Guess cheesy porn one-liners do it for you,” she whispers, trying to kiss him again, but he leans away to find another condom. Her mouth latches onto his neck, sucking greedily, and his cock gives a little twitch against her stomach.

Hurriedly, he gets a condom open and rolled down his shaft, then he pushes into her like he can’t bear another second not being inside her. She’s so slick there’s barely any resistance, and she clenches around him tight to make him moan. Her breath hitches as he begins moving inside her, short, rough thrusts of his cock.

He sighs languidly, his breathy pants on her neck hot and moist. She stretches her neck back to moan her satisfaction out loud, sucking in air, and she stretches her legs out against the bed, flattening her pelvis so the base of his cock rubs against her clit every time he thrusts into her. It’s not steady enough to make her come, but it gives her a nice little jolt, her walls spasming, slicking his cock with more of her arousal.

“God, you feel better than I ever imagined,” he groans, bracing himself on his forearms.

“You think about this a lot?” she huffs, lifting her eyes to his. His face is close enough that their lips graze together when they talk.

“In prison?” He punctuates it with a sharp, punishing thrust that makes her gasp and curl her toes. “Yeah. Not much else to think about.”

She bites down on her lip, breathing hard. “You—you touch yourself a lot thinking about this?”

His smirk is strained. “Again. Not much else to do.”

He sits up some, peeling her hands off his sides. Curling his fingers around her wrists, he pins them to the bed above her head, under the pillow. Peeta squeezes his hands, the pressure firm on her wrists, and he arches over her as he begins thrusting again. His body is mesmerizing, long and thick above her, the muscles in his arms and stomach and legs bunching, beckoning, with his forceful movements.

She hikes her knees up and squirms, twisting her wrists in his hands so he’ll understand she wants to touch him. But his lip curls, and he shakes his head. Perspiration glistens on his forehead, at his hairline, along his neck.

“Your turn,” he says thickly, and she doesn’t understand until he bucks into her, hard, forcing a surprised gasp from her throat. “Take it.”

Katniss closes her eyes, flexing her hands in his grasp. She focuses on the way her breasts bounce with his thrusts, on the way his thick cock works inside of her relentlessly. It’s good, so good, like everything starts and ends with him between her thighs.

“Peeta,” she moans, gyrating her hips for his benefit. His eyes rolls back, and he releases a shuddering breath.

“Yeah, that’s good,” he murmurs, then he shifts above her to grab both her wrists with one hand, squeezing tightly. He opens her legs wider by spreading his thighs, fucking her deep and fast. His free hand snakes between her legs, splaying over her mound to stroke the swollen bud of her clit with his thumb. She moans, her thighs tightening, clenching, wanting to close shut around his hand but forced open by his hips. “Feel good?” he asks through gritted teeth, and she nods desperately, straining against his hand. He circles his thumb into her wet flesh, never losing the rhythm of his thrusts, and for a recent virgin, she’s amazed at how good he is at this.

It doesn’t take her long to climax, her pussy fluttering wildly around his hard shaft as she comes. Her moans are loud, gasping, and he slows inside her, barely pulling out of her so he can lavish in the contractions of her walls around his cock. But then he’s pounding into her again with shallow breaths until he’s coming too, his hips jerking a few times before he goes still. He hovers above her, panting soft groans, and she pushes up against him as far as his restraint will allow, wrapping her legs around his waist.

He takes the hint, lowering on top of her so he can drop his mouth to hers. It’s a sloppy, breathy kiss, and Peeta finally pulls out of her, though it takes him a moment longer before he actually releases her to remove the condom. Her hands tingle, and she rubs the feeling back into them as he gets up to dispose of the condom. When he comes back, she stretches out close to his side, and he turns toward her, wrapping his arms around her to hold her against his chest.

They just breathe for a while, coming down from their orgasms, drifting in the post-coital euphoria. Peeta speaks first, and his quiet, skeptical words surprise her.

“You’re not scared of me?”

She lifts her head from his chest, leaning it back to meet his eyes. “Scared of you?” She searches for his point. “For…going to prison for a non-violent crime you didn’t even commit?”

He shrugs, his mouth tightening. “I had to do some ugly things just to get by in there. You don’t leave that place the same person you went in as.”

She studies his face, his eyes. She wriggles in his arms until he relaxes his embrace some so she can lift her hand up. She smooths her thumb over his brow, finds the white scar between his eyes and rubs its gently. Then she shakes her head.

“I’m not scared of you,” she says simply. She’s seen the power of his body, knows what he’s capable of, can only imagine the things he’s done, can do. But she’s never been afraid of what he could do to her. It’s just unfathomable. “I didn’t really know you in school, but even then, I knew you were a good person. Just look what you’ve done for me.” Her voice trembles, and she traces his lips with her fingertips. He watches her intently, his throat constricting with a hard swallow. “I think you’re still a good person, no matter what you’ve had to do. The fact that you can forgive me after everything…You’re good. You’re better than everyone here.” _Better than me._

His stare is pinned to her face, making her feel exalted and vulnerable. He clasps her hand in his, flattening her palm to his lips in a kiss. His thumb rubs the tender skin of her wrist, soothing it. Then he smiles faintly.

“Thank you.”

“For what?” she whispers, and he flashes her a slow smirk.

“Well, one, for rocking my world.”

She scoffs, heat warming her face, and he pulls her against his chest again, cocooning her in his arms against the pillows. “I’m serious,” he continues. “My god, four years without a woman’s presence or her touch. Or her smell.” He inhales deeply, nose nuzzled in her hair. “Jesus. I think I could come just from that. What shampoo do you use?”

Katniss pushes on his chest, blushing heartily now, but she laughs. “It’s Herbal Essences, I don’t know. Stop.”

He pulls back, giving her space to pop her head up. His face is serious now. “But, really. Thank you for still seeing _me_ , I guess. Most people see a criminal.”

Most people don’t know the truth.

Guilt surges inside her, and she tries to swallow it down. She shakes her head. “That’s not who you are. That’s not real.”

His blue eyes, raw and honest, search hers. Cupping her chin, he whispers, “But this is real.” He says it like he needs confirmation, needs her to say it, so she nods, shyly almost.

“This is real.“


End file.
